Cleansing
by Mariana1
Summary: Draco relives one of the harest times of his life...One off DH from Draco's POV Warning for SLASH, rape, and self harm... no likee no readee...


****

Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling… I ain't getting no money from this…

****

AN: This story is dedicated, and written for Will… who really deserves it. After all, she's reviewed every single one of my fics and is usually the first one, she betas them and inflates my ego no end. She even protects my bubble from getting burst. So, uh, yeah… I asked her what she wanted, she said A D/H angst with a sappy ending, I said fine, then wrote this at 12:30 the same night. 

It's Slash, so don't read if you don't like male/male pairings. Draco/Harry. Draco POV and it deserves a warning for rape and self harm…

One more thing- REVIEW!!! (pwetty pweeez!)

****

Cleansing

I just lie here. Every night I just lie here and let him do whatever he wants to me. These days I hardly notice the physical pain. I've grown used to it. The human body, it seems, truly is infinitely adaptable. But then again I've lived with this all my life so why should I even notice any more?

I perform a few screams for him, knowing I'll suffer if I don't and knowing there are spells surrounding this room so no one will ever here me. He always prepares well.

I said the physical pain doesn't affect me any more, and it doesn't. I used to think that about the mental pain as well: the psychological torment that never seemed to leave me. But recently, it's taken on a new dimension. As he takes my body, hands holding my hips down so hard I know there'll be bruises there in the morning. I see green eyes, bright as emeralds, staring at me accusingly. I feel like I'm betraying him. Those eyes… they haunt me and reproach me for my life. They scream 'slut, slut, slut' at me and mock me. They fill me with guilt for letting them do this- first my father, and now my teacher. Yet, at the same time, they seem to be sad for me.

Ha! That's a good joke: Harry Potter, Dumbledore's precious Potter, feeling sad for me, his rival and enemy Draco Malfoy? I think not. The golden boy of Hogwarts is too busy trying to save the world and grab the attention. He succeeds as well. When I'm around anyway. I can't seem to take my eyes off him. It's strange because I hardly realise I'm doing it until Goyle or Crabbe nudges me. That's their job- to keep me on the straight and narrow. Well, the straight and narrow path to hell.

A grunt from above me signifies the finish and tells me that he isn't very impressed that I didn't notice. What did he want? Did he expect me to go down on my knees and beg him to screw my brains out? Whatever he expected, he knows he's not getting it. So he rolls off me and lets me go. 

I sit up slowly, knowing that my ass will be killing me tomorrow, but that's not really a new thing, and I pull my robes down, preserving what little dignity I have left. That's one of my rules- I walk in and I walk out exactly the same.

I feel filthy. But then again I always feel dirty these days, especially around him, he's always so clean and perfect and… it's just sickening! I can't get clean, no matter _what_ I do. At first, before I came here, and when my father used me, I used to try and wash off the dirt. I got the flannel and scrubbed. I scrubbed so hard I got bruises al over my body and I rubbed half my skin off. Then I used to take the soap, and push it into my cuts, and in other place, trying to get clean where the dirt was- beneath the surface. But it didn't work, it never worked. Even when I was brilliant red with scrubbing and streaked blood. It didn't work. But I kept on doing it, and I welcomed the pain. I welcomed it because I knew I deserved it. I deserved to hurt because I was foul and unclean. And the pain helped bring me relief from that. It dulled the guilt and killed my senses.

But now he stops the pain as well.

I'm in the prefect's bathroom, with my wand in my hands, and I'm shaking. Not in fear, or cold or confusion, but with suppressed excitement and anticipation. It's past midnight, the halls are empty. I won't be disturbed. And the time has come for the pain again. That exquisite, addictive pain that frees me from myself, from my life, from this school and the feeling of dirt, the taint. But then I can see his face. He's begging me not to do it. He's taunting and pleading at the same time, and I can't tell if the words he's never truly said, that echo round my mind as if in memory, are sarcastic or not. I know his words aren't true, but he keeps on chanting them. Over and over in my mind. I begin to shake with anger now and frustration overtakes me.

I don't even need to speak the spell these days; my wand knows what is needed. But _he_'s still there! And my anger spills out and the cut goes deep. Blood flows out in red rivulets and I feel the pain wash over me, cleansing me, renewing me. There's still more blood coming, more and more and more. I'm not thinking straight, through a mixture of anger and blood loss I suppose, because I cut the other arm and admire the patterns the red streaks make in the water. I don't remember that the blood isn't just a red liquid. I don't remember that's it's my life, my life flowing away, out of my control. Symbolic really, because my life's always been out of my control, ever since I was born.

The room begins to fade, and that's when it begins to click. I'm going. And I'm not going to come back.

As the grey insinuates itself into my vision I understand that I am free. At last I am free from the life that has been so well planned out for me… Free.

But before I reach my freedom I'm grabbed by a pair of arms and the grey recedes as those eyes gaze down at me. It may be a problem with my eyesight, but I would swear those emeralds were watery. He calls out to me, and my groggy mind takes a second to register what he's saying: "Don't leave me, dammit, don't you dare leave me!" And strong arms lift me gently, cradling me slightly, as I feel myself get rushed to the hospital wing.

Great, now everyone's going to know about it.

I think I must have lost consciousness because it's morning, and I'm looking up into those bottle-green eyes and they're so worried and caring that suddenly I'm not drowning in despair, I'm floating in happiness. Those arms wrap around me, rocking me gently. And I realise that those arms don't belong to the boy I knew, but rather to the man I live with. He smiles sadly at me.

"Bad memories, love?" He asks, quietly, soothing me with his voice as well as his actions. I just nod as he strokes my white-blond hair. "No need to worry," he tells me, "Got to sleep, I'm here." 

So I do.


End file.
